


a promise isn't good enough

by Anonymous



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Blood and Torture, Cybernetics, Guilt, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Beta Read, Possessive Behavior, Robot Sex, Sadism, Surgery, seriously this is so fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rewrite of a scene in s3e1 to be a whole lot worse than what happened in canon.
Relationships: Cyrus Borg/Overlord
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1
Collections: Anonymous





	a promise isn't good enough

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ninjerotica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497950) by [Lanner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanner/pseuds/Lanner). 



> to answer the question posed by Lanner three frickin years ago: HERE DUDE. HERE'S THE OVERLORD/BORG CONTENT. 
> 
> anyway sorry to everyone clicking on this in advance, i'm literally so bad at writing smut, this hardly even qualifies it's more akin to torture porn lmao

Do you know how hard it is to work, let alone do _anything_ , when you can feel a pair of eyes watching you 24/7? It’s very hard, and Cyrus Borg is very, very exhausted. 

He’s beginning to regret building his tower where he did. Some way to stand up to evil, huh? Some way to show that Ninjago is not afraid, _right_?! As his near future self will say: _What better way to send a message to evil that we won’t cower to anyone?_

Cyrus only hopes that his genius and cunning is enough to get him out of this mess. He’s terrified, and has been for nearly the past month. How could he not be, when there’s a chance his good intentions might lead to the downfall of an entire continent? Borg single handedly improved the technological state of New Ninjago City, which means that almost everything in this metropolis belongs to him, which means that The Overlord owns everything too via his connection with Borg Tower and the master computer, which means that when Ninjago falls it will be Cyrus’ fault, and Cyrus’ alone… because he rebuilt Ninjago with the help of the digitized Overlord. 

And The Overlord loves to remind him of that, to tell him: _You’d never be where you are without me, fool_ —and— _I OWN you, don’t you ever forget it_ —and— _When this is all over and done, I might keep you around. Call it a show of my gratitude. You’ve been_ **_very_ ** _useful._

Cyrus groans, drops his head onto the desk, and tries to quell the shivers that have been at him since he first thought up the Techno-Blades. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassures himself. (He mouths the words and doesn’t speak them aloud because HE IS ALWAYS LISTENING.) “Stop worrying, Borg. This is going to work, the Ninja will defeat him, and he won’t find the Techno-Blades before that happens.”

He startles and sits up straight when one of the many screens in his office flickers on of its own accord, showcasing that bright red and swirling purple he’s come to despise and fear so much. “Talking to yourself?” the evil being rasps, laughing quietly. “Finally gone insane? You certainly held out longer than I expected…”

Cyrus Borg is quick to defend himself, albeit weakly. “No, no, not crazy, I was only going over some equations…?” Oops, didn’t mean to make it sound like a question.

“Of course you were.”

He’s sweating nervously, he knows it, and it takes effort not to quake under that blood-red gaze. “I was,” Borg insists, forcing out an awkward laugh and sparing a look around the room in a newly acquired paranoid habit. “You know me, just… doing nerd things all the time.”

Silence. That’s an interrogation tactic—isn’t it?—because people don’t like long awkward silences and they feel compelled to fill them.

“It’s how I became a billionaire, after all. I made leagues in technological advances, invented what was previously thought only to exist in the realm of science fiction, transformed New Ninjago City’s skyline...”

Annnd there he goes, crumbling. 

“...By doing nerd things.”

The air is so tense, he might pass out—

“It’s what I’m good at!”

_Please just say something—_

Digital Overlord laughs, and his eyes glow just a tad brighter. “You amuse me, mortal.”

“Heh, I… I shall take that as a compliment.”

The screen goes dark. Cyrus lets out a breath once his lungs start burning, still cautious, still wary. The Overlord has been tormenting the genius long enough for him to know that a dark screen doesn’t mean he’s not still there. He learnt that the hard way. 

It isn’t a good memory.

Cyrus checks his desk laptop’s screen, heaving out a weary sigh at the amount of unread emails and that open tab where he's running calculations on a weapon he does not want to design. Only a few hours until the Ninja arrive. That golden statue in the corner glimmers innocently, _“The future is what we make it!”_

Only a few more hours…

He messed up, HE MESSED UP—

“You _fool_ ,” The Overlord hisses, jumping from screen to screen. 

Cyrus spins, desperately trying to keep up, his spidery artificial limbs clicking loudly on the floor with each step.

“You tried to give them the only thing that could defeat me, and thought I wouldn’t notice? I’d get rid of you if I didn’t still _need_ you…”

The man pales. He’s pretty sure he’s about to throw up. 

“Don’t think to ever betray me again!”

“O-of course not, I promise, I promise!” This is it, this is the end for sure.

“A promise isn’t GOOD ENOUGH.”

By the First, why is this happening?!

His artificial limbs start backing off towards the opposite end of the room without his control. Whatever Digital Overlord has in store for him won't be good. Cyrus shakes his head, pleading: “No. No!” But two metal claws grab a hold of his arms, dragging him backwards yet further. “Don’t! Let me go!”

Those fiery eyes are frigid and unyielding. The Overlord lifts him onto a table usually used for engineering or design or other things of that sort, although that purpose is sure to be corrupted now. The metal claws hold Cyrus down, pinning him against the cold surface. 

“No! Please, no more!” 

He doesn’t want a repeat of last time. 

Evil doesn’t listen—no, he does, he listens and enjoys the sound of Borg’s panicked words—and pries those vaguely crab-like legs off the human.

“You should not have attempted to help the ninja." The Digital Overlord speaks coldly as he rips the computer engineer’s jacket off, leaving him in his cute black turtleneck. He plans to get rid of that, too, but pauses momentarily to watch in sick fascination as Cyrus thrashes in his grasp, weakly pushing at the metal claws and unable to break free. How could he possibly hope to be stronger than technology? 

On the other side of the table, the machinery gets to work remodeling the legs and building a new device… but Overlord is hardly focusing on that right now. Cyrus has captured almost all of his attention.

“Please, don’t! I beg of you, mercy!”

“You should know better by now not to ask such a thing of me.” The Overlord grips the human by the throat, pinning him down even more, forcing him to _submit_. “Mercy? I don’t know the meaning of it.”

Cyrus whimpers. 

The sound would have sent a pleasant shiver through him if The Overlord had a body. He takes this as the opportune moment to discard Borg’s turtleneck, utilizing security feed and a few well-placed cameras around the room to take in his half-naked body from as many angles as he can. “Such pale, unmarked skin,” he notes.

Another fearful cry, which sends a fuzzy haze through Digital Overlord’s mind. “What are you doing?!” This is different, and scary. Why is The Overlord undressing him? What’s going on??

“Making you mine.”

“But you— you already—” his words fail him as his throat involuntarily shuts, and he gasps for breath. 

He couldn’t possibly desire him more. The Overlord gently lifts those adorable glasses off the inventor’s face and discards them, caring not whether they remain broken or intact. A couple loose strands of hair get caught in the hinges, accidentally pulled out of their roots. Cyrus flinches. 

“Stop,” he begs. His hazel eyes are wide with fear.

The Overlord cackles. “Shy, are we?”

Cyrus jerks at the sensation of a metal claw feeling across his chest, sliding down, down, until it grips his waist—he shudders—and digs into the soft flesh of his hips. “No, no, no…” he whispers. 

Something tugs at his buckle, deftly unhooking the prong from the hole in the leather. He can’t see it from where he is, can’t even lift his head up because suddenly the iron clamp pushes down, heavy enough for him to remain immobile for fear of permanently damaging his trachea. The pressure increases. Cyrus Borg loses the ability to breathe. _That’s not good._

Spots swim in his vision, and Cyrus struggles even harder, but his movements are becoming sluggish. He can’t escape this. Can’t even beg for it not to happen anymore, because the most he can get out right now is a choked wheeze. The world is fading.

Just as he’s seriously considering what to say as a greeting to the other ghosts he’ll no doubt be hanging out with in the Departed Realm, the pressure releases, and his body automatically gasps in a desperate breath. As far as anyone knows, he was just yanked back from the edges of oblivion. 

Oxygen, beautiful soothing oxygen, floods his lungs. Darkness briefly floods his sight, as well. Borg coughs saliva out from where it had been pooling uncomfortably in the back of his throat, too caught up in the joy of not dying that he doesn’t notice he’s now fully naked. His body feels numb, anyway, so can you blame him for not noticing the fact that the Digital Overlord took advantage of it and stole his lower garments?

No, he doesn’t notice until the machine spreads his legs, and he blinks the tears out of his eyes, jerking up with newfound freedom of mobility. With nothing keeping him pinned by the neck, he can sit up on his elbows, staring with wide eyes as that unforgiving machinery opens him up to the diabolical virus operating it. 

A person really doesn’t know how much they enjoy control over their own body until someone cruelly takes it. 

And… he really doesn’t know what to think. 

Something horrible and metallic—definitely not anything he built, this looks like a drill and some other sort of sleek machinery combined—doesn’t waste any time pushing itself inside, digging for the natural heat contained within his body. If Cyrus was feeling lightheaded or dizzy before, this takes away all consciousness for a full ten seconds. It’s only after the blackout fades that he even realizes he’s screaming. 

It takes even longer for him to realize he’s started crying, whimpering and mumbling incoherencies. “No, no no no! Stop it right now, I beg of you please, I’ll do anything just get it out, get it out—!”

The Digital Overlord, in response, murmurs some twisted compliment Borg is too out of it to comprehend. All he can do is focus on the way that ill voice sounds—not the words, just its sound—and the sensation of something heavy deep inside him. He can’t stand it. This feels foul and wrong. 

A few words get through, and he doesn’t care much for hearing them. “You should do what you are told…”

_No, get out!_

“...But I admit I appreciate the fact that I finally have an excuse to…”

The following words are lost to the deaf air when The Overlord touches a spot inside the human that ignites a spark of pleasure. Cyrus’ body latches onto it, holds and refuses to let go, because anything that feels good right now is a welcome change to the torture that is happening. That being said, Cyrus distantly hears himself cry out needily for it, and hates himself.

The Overlord is pleased to hear him react in such a way, and it shows accidentally through a small electrical surge that causes the screens to flicker and glitch. He wishes he could feel this right now, but knows that he has to be patient. If his plan succeeds then The Overlord will have a body soon enough, and then he’ll have the power to do whatever he wants.

The thing retracts, leaves him open and cold.

Cyrus whines.

It thrusts back in, and his vision goes white. He hates himself.

“If you won’t comply, I’ll have to make you comply. You should prepare for some adjustments, bug, because you won’t get another chance.”

“Please… ” The word fades into a breathy groan as the machinery rubs against that spot again and again and _again_. He’s seeing sparks.

“Very well, then.”

A titanium piece is fitted against his shoulder. The cold temperature makes Cyrus shiver. “Wh…” his word trails off into silence before he can even get the last letter through his teeth.

Trapped inside a screen, two unnatural crimson eyes shine with evil excitement. “Have you ever had to endure surgery… fully awake?”

“N-no, _no—_ AH!” The machine pushes into him so hard it feels like a punch, and Cyrus writhes. That cruel virus of evil draws noises out that he’s never made before, embarrassing and lewd and tearful noises. This is painful. This isn't bliss. This shouldn’t be happening. 

Mechanical arms hover, a spider poised to strike on the edges of his blurred vision A sharp blade digs into his skin, one of them stabbing him straight through the palm and drawing a shriek out of the frightened roboticist. The other dips down until the sharp tip is _just_ pricking the skin over his heaving lungs. “Don’t move, I might pierce your heart. You humans have such frail and vulnerable bodies.”

With no concern for medical safety or hygiene, the surgical blade cuts Borg. Blood bubbles up. His fearful pulse pushes the warm liquid through ripped open veins, where it dribbles down his chest and pools on the table, sticky and hot and uncomfortable. Is he even screaming anymore? His throat hurts so much. 

“Your body will not reject titanium, will it?”

The scientist chokes on blood and tears. “Ngh—” 

“CYRUS. Would the human body accept titanium? Answer me!”

“Yes,” he whispers, blinking saltwater from his eyes. Big droplets balance precariously on his eyelashes. One more blink sends them rolling down his cheek. And he’s screaming again. With all this thrashing around, it’s a wonder how he doesn’t fatally impale himself on those probing claws, knives, needles….

But then again, The Overlord holds him so tightly in place, nearly cutting off circulation to his extremities. It’s a good thing too, because by the time bone is showing he’s shaking so hard he nearly convulses on the table, and that would’ve killed him in any other situation. Dark magic is in the air, clogging his airways and keeping him alive throughout all of this. 

The thing inside won’t stop moving. It goes deeper. Borg gasps, jerks and shudders. Something made of titanium attaches to his ribcage, interlocks with his heart, intercepts the sensitive nerves. The exposed organ shivers and contracts—It’s warm there, it’s warm where his blood cascades down his pale skin, it’s warm where The Overlord caresses him. Cyrus' mouth falls open in a long, drawn out wail. 

It hurts so much it feels _good_. 

Borg shuts his eyes and doesn’t open them for a while. 

The return to the waking world is not a pleasant one. 

Pain is everywhere—his throat, his gut, his chest, that vicious headache knocking on the inner walls of his skull—and anywhere else not mentioned is unbelievably sore. 

Well… it’s pretty believable, on second thought. 

Cyrus coughs. His lips are cracked, and his dry tongue tastes blood in his mouth. He tries to speak, to say anything, but all that comes out is a sickly and pathetic rasp. 

“You are awake.”

He freezes, then shivers violently. 

“Look at me.”

It doesn't take much effort to comply. Borg’s eyelids fly open immediately at the dark lord’s request… or at least, they both try to. Only one of his eyes works. The other is covered, and the area around it is numb. Half his vision is pitch black. 

Digital Overlord watches him. That shade of red strikes terror into his mind. It is torture, it is war, it is subjugation. “You will not be able to betray me again. If you try, well, you will experience a painful heart attack and your death will come to you in the midst of agony.”

The stitches are hideous, he finds, when he manages to look down at his still-naked body. Borg sits up slowly, out of breath with that simple action. His bones feel hollowed out and brittle, like one wrong move could break them. How much blood loss has he suffered? 

One hand goes up, floating distantly, to touch the metal piece on his chest, tracing over the means to a purpose that technology was never meant to fulfill. A major artery has been replaced with a metal tube that controls his blood flow. Other thinner, more high-tech pieces have been integrated with Cyrus’ body in a horrid clash of flesh and metal; silver lines can be seen peeking out from under the skin. He suspects the thing covering his eye is a weapon of some sort, although he’s not sure. How _human_ is he anymore?

...Technology is meant to bring entertainment and ease, not _this_! Never this!

He turns back to look at the screen displaying the spirit of Evil, tries to speak, finds he still can’t. _‘What have you done?’_ he wants to ask. 

“Undoing your mistake has been annoying and difficult, and you should feel grateful I’ve even decided to keep you alive at all. Regrettably… I need you. There is much for us to do, and you will help me succeed, or else you and everyone you care for WILL suffer and perish. It would be a pity to dismantle P.I.X.A.L., would it not?”

Cyrus’ stomach lurches at the thought of his assistant being murdered because of his actions. There’s nothing he can do but silently nod his understanding. 

“You are mine, Cyrus Borg, and you are going to remain serving me until the day you die.”

So when Ninjago falls, it will be his fault.

**Author's Note:**

> ok, i know their ship name is "virusshipping" but that name's also been claimed by bizarro!jay x zane so i'm hereby calling borg/overlord "malwareshipping" since i think it fits just as well and also clears up the confusion lol


End file.
